Ambrosia
by refracted
Summary: Dark. Sasuke/Sakura. AU. In the morning, when all the pretence has dissolved and they have finished the deeds that will become the death of them, he pretends he is asleep when he hears her sob. She breaks too beautifully, he believes.


**Ambrosia  
><strong>_But nothing cures the hurt you bring on by yourself._

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><p>.<p>

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i.

The first time she sees him, he is breaking.

She trailed her eyes over his features in a sequential order. His head was laid on one cheek amongst an array of shattered whiskey bottles. His complexion was a ghastly pale; blotched with yellow and blue. His hair was a chaotic disaster: the back split in mad directions and the front drooping as if it were soaked with water. His lips were as thin as razors, frosted with the dryness of alcohol. His eyes were beyond bloodshot, accompanied by rings of black underneath, and she swore she could see tears welling.

Several times, his jaws clenched, and loosened. His hands fisted, and released.

He was a boy on the edge of shattering. She had seen this too many times since her tight-for-money solution was working at a pub, but nobody had looked as distinctive as him. Nobody had looked as frighteningly dangerous, either, and every iota in her told her he was no good.

This should've been confirmed when she couldn't help but to assume that given he was not utterly drunk and destroyed, he would've been strikingly handsome.

Nonetheless, she was Sakura. She was sixteen and only knowledgeable of the good things in life. She wanted to help, even if he was born to hurt. She didn't know that, though.

So she went against her better judgement and hauled his heavy body onto one of her shoulders, dragging his body outside of the pub, into the embrace of the outside environment. A whiff of cold hair hit his face, and it was only then that he realised the change and started hissing incomprehensible phrases, often acquainted by a meddled sob or venomous growl. The only word she could detect was a girl's name that was frequently repeated.

_Karin._

This was all forgotten, though, when he started leering towards her, his lips curling into a twisted smile. She could tell through his intoxication that he wasn't much of a smiler—the execution of it was far too forced and fabricated, as if it had been rehearsed and pre-determined a thousand times before. She sighed and moved him away from her, becoming more impatient with the lateness of transportation.

When the taxi did arrive, she did no less than push him into the seat, buckle up his seatbelt and reiterated the question of where he lived until he managed to sputter it out to the driver.

Unfortunately, when the door closed, he returned to staring at her. She witnessed the pained eyes and the agonized expression that his face morphed into, the loss that he suffered becoming far too apparent. Her chest was induced into a chill as the taxi drove away, the last remnant being his tears that had escaped from his eyelids.

She realised then that even being utterly drunk and destroyed, he was strikingly handsome in that tragic, you-have-to-stay-away-from-him way.

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ii.

He finds her less than a week later.

She is working at the pub again when he does, scrubbing off the spill and odour of alcohol, as well as the ashes of countless cigarettes.

He doesn't know why he comes back. He just does. Despite the fact he was hammered out of his mind, the one thing he remembered was how clear her emerald eyes were. He may had been half-pretending that she was Her—that blasted woman who had broken his heart—but, still, he remembered. And he hardly ever remembered anything about girls. They were all a blur.

In other words, the curiosity fuelled his visit. Mere, bane curiosity.

His eyes narrowed in scrutinisation as he approached her. This girl was so unlike Her. He could tell that this girl was a virgin, and it was questionable whether she had even obtained her first kiss yet. She was not shallow though she may have been naive, and this was shown by the lack of make-up and care in how hair was managed. Her bubblegum locks were tied carelessly into a messy bun, disoriented bangs framing her oval face.

Most of all, she lacked the fire and spark that was so dominant in Her. He would have ignored her presence had she not practically saved him the previous night.

He couldn't help but to smirk when she finally realised his existence, peering up between her eyelashes with that endearing flash of recognition. A timid blush spread across her cheeks and she quickly looked down, acting as if she was concentrated on her current task.

She was just a little girl, even if he was probably only barely two years older than her. He may have not been arrogant to the size of Jupiter, but he was well aware of how susceptible this girl was to his charm. If he tried, she would crumble under him.

He shouldn't have tried. But he did. So, he walked closer with effortless poise and slipped on an insincere half-smile. He made sure that his stygian eyes were giving off that 'smouldering look,' as he gazed at her, his voice gruff when he spoke: "thank you." Needless to say, he didn't mean any of those two words as much as he would mean an apology. He was manipulative and selfish. She was sixteen and he was eighteen, but in terms of duplicity, he may as well have been twice her age. She was the prey and he was the predator.

He just needed something to hook, line and sinker... and was he good at those three sequential acts. Apart from Her, that is. The fleeting thought made his jaw clench. He would get his revenge, he would damn well get his revenge—

"I-I'm sorry?" She only managed to stammer it out. His half-smile widened.

He leaned forward and extended his hand with the pageant grace of a gentlemen, but the underlying slither of a con-man. However, she wouldn't be able to see through the lines and detect his pretence. Expectantly, she returned his gesture by shaking her hand, the softness of her skin moulding into the firmness of his.

He made sure he was invading her proximity enough for her to smell his cologne scent and feel his heated breath. "I believe I didn't introduce myself properly before. The name's Uchiha Sasuke."

And the second her eyes shimmered with that childlike-bashfulness, he knew he would.

He would get his revenge; just by avenging himself through her.

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iii.

This was ridiculous.

How could this man—who was seated opposite of her, smoothly sipping at his cappuccino—be the boy he was at that night?

It was as if he had undergone a transformation. The tiredness of his eyes had disappeared and he no longer looked worn-down. He was shining with a new freshness and confidence, striding through the roads as if he was God on Earth.

But he could, with that face and body, she thought. He really was strikingly handsome, drunk and destroyed or not. For some reason, he was better drunk and destroyed to her.

He was the male that all girls had dreamed about when they were in high school—well, she was still in high school, even if it was her final year—the boy who would arrive on a horse as the knight of shining armour. The boy who had all the glamour and all the wit. The boy who was immaculate and yet still so dark, tall and mysterious. The boy who wasn't a boy and was a man at the same time.

He was perfect. Perfect, perfect, bloody _perfect_.

The problem was, he wasn't at all. He wasn't a dream and he wasn't perfect. He was to become her worst nightmare.

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iv.

He begins taking her on dates.

Had she been someone who had known rather than believed, she would've been able to see through his thin layer of integrity, because underneath there was so many thick shades of darkness. But she didn't know. She believed. And she believed she could help him. How silly. How naive. How self-destructive. How _Sakura._

Everything was rolling like clockwork for Uchiha Sasuke. His offer of carnations swayed her. His smirks seduced her. His holds chained her. His presents won her. His cliché rides-up-the-ferris-wheel-while-cuddling-with-the-girl made her feel safe. Made her _trust _him.

Everything was working out for him, it was true.

So why did he feel a pang of regret when she beamed her one-hundred watt smile, clinging against his arm and exclaiming him to be _such _a good and kind person?

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v.

On her birthday, he compensates for his own guilt by buying her a superfluous amount of presents.

He forgot to realise that this wasn't Her, and Sakura wasn't materialistic.

Nonetheless, he purchased a ruby necklace, another bouquet of carnations and a white empire-waist dress that would flow outwards with tresses.

She had to accept, she had to be pleased; because if it was Her she would've been, she just had to, she hadtohadtohadtohadto—

She was.

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v.

He knew this was wrong.

He was using her. Mercilessly, heartlessly, redundantly.

But it would work for the time being, he supposed. And that was enough, wasn't it?

After a collection of dates, he had her wrung around his finger. If she was not in love with him, then it would be infatuation. He could tell her to do anything and she would do it. She was under his control.

He knew it was wrong when he asked her—with a voice that made it sound like he was cautious and cared—if he could be given permission from her to initiate a physical relationship. He knew it was wrong but goddamit he did it, and he asked, and he got his answer.

It was night when he did request such a thing, and they had finished a rather wonderful date in her opinion, until he brought her to her house, invited her for some evening tea and shook her with this earthquake of a question.

She had shifted in his couch uncomfortably and looked away from his piercing eyes, but there was no escape. Would she refuse him? Even better, _could _she refuse him? How would the rejection go if she had chosen to? Would he let her walk out of his house? Perhaps it would completely shatter their entire relationship... if there even was one.

She closed her eyes and takes a deep breath. For the second time she ignores her best instincts that this was a warning signal for an advantageous male, and she opens her eyes with dispersed tears and only manages a fragmented smile.

She walked towards where he was seated and situated herself onto his lap, placing her hands onto his chest and capturing his lips with her own. At the contact, his hands fling forward and encase her waist, pulling her towards him as close as possible. Her straddling arouses the heat in his loins and soon he is bruising her lips, biting at her neck and grinding against her, hissing profanities before he grabs her into her arms, slinging her against the nearest wall and pinning himself over her body.

He is harsh and angry and domineering but she imagines that he is soft and loving and gentle.

She is green and pink and white as he thrusts into her painfully but he imagines that she is red, red and _red__._

They both dream fragilely in a overpowering nightmare.

The only truth is that Sakura is seventeen when she throws her life away for someone who doesn't deserve one second of it.

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vi.

It is the next morning when she breaks.

And she does.

She breaks. Beautifully.

He pretends he is asleep when he hears her sob and eventually, turn her back to him.

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vii.

She is left to mend her own shattered self.

She does realise that he's brought her down to the level that he was when she first saw him.

Sakura was never stupid. Just ignorant.

So she ignores.

She blames everything foolish on herself and tells herself time and time again that she shouldn't be expecting so much, because in one way or another, he has given himself to her. In one way or another, he is hers. In one way or another, they are close.

This one way or another is really nothing at all—they just act to salvage her dignity, and of course, that blasphemic entity called faith.

Faith is a blind belief, an emotion with no reason or logicality. Faith makes something out of nothing. Yet, faith keeps people alive.

Faith keeps her alive.

She gives everything of her to him, just having faith that he won't annihilate what's left.

She has faith even when he brings their bodies together, interlocking in (what is only for _him_) a dispassionate uproar of retribution.

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viii.

After continuation, he finds her dulling in every sense.

Her eyes dilute, her skin fades of colour, her motions become weak and she becomes what he has made her: nothing.

When he sees her, she transcends into a void, dimming like a dying star. She doesn't explode in a supernova to create new life, she just... fades.

He suddenly finds himself replacing the red, red and red with green, pink and white.

But even in their closest physical act, even within the climax, he knows she is gone.

He knows he has lost her.

She is not a white, not even a black. She is a dismal grey.

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ix.

He doesn't know why he begins to embrace her after their (what has become) wrongdoings.

He just does.

He doesn't know why he whispers to her softly as he performs every thrust.

He just does.

He doesn't know why he kisses away her tears when they escape.

He just does.

Most of all, he doesn't know why he stays awake, eyes wide open, to watch her break for the thousandth time in the morning.

He just does.

(But on the inside, he knows why. He knows why he does all these things. Because just as he drugged her in the beginning, she has drugged him in the end. He begun stealing and now he will begin giving. He realises that she is absolutely fucking perfect in every single fucking way and he doesn't deserve an ounce of her and she is beautiful and she stays there for him even when she should have left and she is that one in seven billion—)

However, it isn't _enough. _It will never be enough.

It isn't enough even when he leans over, pulling her back into his chest, and mumbling the apology that he means for the first time in his life.

"I'm sorry." _Please say something. God, please do something. Hit me. Yell at me. Hug me. Kiss me. Please, please... please._

She doesn't respond.

And now, he desperately wishes she would hate him.

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x.

He goes to drink himself to death at the same pub.

Everything comes to comprehension, now.

It was never about Her. It was never about Karin. It was the fact that someone had _left __him_—and he direly needed someone to be there for him. He knew he didn't have to be so nasty and ruthless about obtaining that, but he did, and now he regrets it, now he's in remorse, now he is so damn sorry.

Nonetheless, he knows, you can't go back. You can't rewind time once you've done something significantly at fault, freeze the moment and do something different that might've changed everything. The reality is, you live life forwards, and understand it backwards.

Despite all of this realisation, he doesn't come to terms that he is doing exactly that by returning to the pub.

Not even an hour later does she find him.

She finds him drunk and destroyed and because she is Sakura and she knew him more than anyone now, she understood that he didn't need just somebody, he needed _her. _He needed Haruno Sakura.

She comes to acceptance to why she preferred this boy than the man that fucked her and broke her.

It is because this is the Uchiha Sasuke who is vulnerable. This is the Uchiha Sasuke who is the tragedy boy, not the knight in shining armour. This is the Uchiha Sasuke who had all the glamour and the wit but would waste it just to be mediocre. This is the Uchiha Sasuke that was imperfect and bright, small and right in the open. This ws the Uchiha Sasuke who wasn't a man, because at the end of it all, he was just a _boy._

At eighteen, Sakura carries him home and spends the entire night staring at the one that she had actually fallen in love with.

She smiles and becomes alive again when she hears him whisper his confessions to her in his sleep.

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xi.

He awakens to the sound of her shallow, but tranquil breathing.

This morning, he swears, he will make it different.

She is laid next to him, sleeping against his chest, a tentative smile on her face.

It is the first time that her face was not stained with the trails of tears.

He gently shakes her awake and she does with a tired yawn, her eyes opening with the gleam of emerald that he had found himself missing.

Yes, he _will _make it different.

Surprising him, the first expression that makes way to her face is the emergence of a grin. "I heard you yesterday."

It shocks him more than anyone could ever grasp how she was able to wash the surface of the Earth empty of all of his faults and mistakes and start anew again. However, it relieves him all the same.

He tilts his head in question.

She brushes away his locks of hair and her face abruptly turns soft... very soft. She blushes with that pretty rose and looks down, the maintaining of her innocent appeal unbelieving given that he had wrecked her many times before.

"You... you said you loved me." _And that you needed me, and that you were sorry, and that you wanted me to come back, and that you would try to do everything again... there was quite a lot of other things amongst it, but that stood out the most._

The words shake him to the core, injecting him into a burn, but he is not unsure this time. He knows what he is going to do and why he is going to do it.

He brings her hands to his lips and kisses each knuckle. He then places her hands onto his chest and coughs roughly to hide the embarrassment of his nature. She feels the beating of his heart: a melodic and calming tempo that soothes her anticipation.

He doesn't disappoint her, though.

"I love you," he affirms, shortly, succinctly, but truthfully. He doesn't look away from her as he says it, and his jaws don't clench and and loosen and his hands don't fist and release—however, she could tell he was on the edge of shattering by her comand.

Once again.

And like the first time, she gathers him towards her and saves him.

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xii.

In time, he promises that he will save her, too.

She doesn't have faith, or hopes, or believes.

She _knows_ he will.

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><p><strong>EndNotes  
><strong>This was clearly not as dark as I intended, but.  
>It also became a lot more angsty than I intended.<br>The angst just practically flew out.  
>And I apologise for the people who were expecting lemon scenes.<br>They were minor, and _that _actually was intentional.  
>(Can you also see I'm greatly obsessed with this spacing?)<br>Anyway, I really liked this; however I would really appreciate some concrit. :)


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